When the Stars Come Out
by darkelectricity
Summary: A short about the actor, Benedict Cumberbatch, who plays Sherlock, his desire for children, and a small glimpse into what that life might be like for him. [daddy!batch]


Children were not meant to be kept inside, faces clean and hands to their sides. They were meant to be outdoors in the sunshine, dirt in their trousers and laughter following them everywhere. And he… well, he was a kid at heart. Maybe that's why he was still struggling to tie this damned thing. _Where __is __my __wife__? __And __where __was__… __ah__, __there __he __is__._ A movement caught his eye on a small boy of nine who had just softly giggled to himself, now standing at the bottom of the stairs, eyes firmly fixed on his father.

—-

They were going somewhere special, that's all he knew. His father was standing at the foyer mirror, tying what looked like a small black ribbon around his neck, making faces at his efforts every so often. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, looking for something small but important. He was told to keep his hands clean and to not mess with anything on his person. His parents didn't often dress like this together, his dad in the black and white outfit with the _tails_ [he giggled to himself] and his mother in the very nice dress with her hair up and a little shiny thing pinned in it. He wished they would dress like this more often.

The boy looked down at himself, dressed in a somewhat similar version to his father's outfit, minus the big hat and the neck thing, wanting to be bigger than his nine years allowed him. He tugged at his jacket a bit, trying to make himself appear as tall as his father. He put his arms down at his sides and puffed his little chest out, willing himself to be a grown up. He looked up to see his father had crossed the entryway, now on bended knee in front of him. He hoped he wasn't in trouble, and tried to smile up at his father. Time to own up to it.

"I'm… I'm sorry, father. I shouldn't have pulled on my jacket. I just wanted to… -sigh- to look like you."

There. He'd said it.

His father's eyes crinkled at the corners as they always did when he really smiled.

"Jonathan, you look extraordinarily handsome, young man," he said affectionately. Then suddenly lowering his voice conspiratorially, he added, "and tonight, we won't tell your mum about any clothing mishaps, shall we?"

The boy nodded his head vigorously in response.

His father laughed, reached for his son, and pulled him into a strong hug. Jonathan loved this feeling, and would always remember it: how his father's arms completely surrounded him, how he smelled like mint, clean linens, with also the tiniest bit of his mother's perfume in there, and how he could feel his father's heartbeat right under his cheek. Good, strong, and very steady.

With a small squeeze, his father released him while still holding him at arm's length.

"Alright, we both still look smart and impeccable," he said with a wink. "Let's go get your mother and sister."

—-

He watched his son run towards the kitchen, arms flailing and his small tails of his jacket flying. He took that moment to stand there and memorize the sound of small dress shoes racing on the hardwood floor, his son's perfect little hands pressed into his back in a hug, and the way that same small boy had tried to imitate his father, not knowing said father was watching. He smiled to himself and began following the laughter of young children through his house.

A wonderful sight greeted him upon entering the kitchen. Jonathan turned to beam at him from his sitting place at the island in the center, laughter still in his eyes. His daughter ran up to him, wrapping herself around one of his trouser legs, and looking up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes. Though she was only six, he reminded himself that one day he'd have to get a new cricket bat to beat back her dates with. Lord, help him.

A clear voice came from near his son.

"Come now, Sophia, let your dad go. He can't walk down the front steps with you attached like a monkey."

Somewhere around his ankle, a sigh escaped from the young girl.

His wife glided up to him, his son in tow. Effortlessly, she disentangled their daughter, who immediately attached herself to his right hand. Jonathan was at his mother's left, and his wife looped her free arm through his.

Looking up at him as they began walking to the front door, she observed in a low voice, "You always did look exceedingly wonderful in formal dress."

He glanced down with a smirk.

With a small shrug, she said, "Almost too good, actually. Maybe we… don't have to go?"

He bit his lower lip as he opened the front door. "Oh, how I wish," he sighed.

—-

It was still afternoon, with the sun doing it's best to come through the scattering of clouds that lingered. The four of them had just descended their front steps to the street, and to the car waiting for them all. The boy watched as his father carefully handed in his sister, helping her get on to the seat. Then turning to his mother, he placed his now free right hand on to his mother's, which was still looped through his left arm. Jonathan felt his mother let go of his hand, her warmth still comforting even through his jacket. He gazed up as his father guided his mother into the car, a glance he didn't understand passing between the two of them.

It seemed there was so much he didn't understand about grown ups. His parents were always _looking_ at each other, _glancing_ at each other, like they were saying things he simply couldn't hear. Sometimes in the morning, when the smell of coffee woke him up, he would race down the main stairs to get to the kitchen as fast as possible. His parents were always up together in the morning, and it was the best time of the day. His dad would sit at the breakfast table, reading the paper and saying things "young men shouldn't hear yet", while his mom packed lunches and did her "mhm" and "of course, dear" while working at the speed of light, it seemed.

But the best part, though he would never, ever tell his parents, was getting to the kitchen to see, or rather, interrupt, them kissing. His father's steaming cup of coffee would be abandoned a few centimeters away from his left elbow, while his hand would be at the small of her back. His mum would inevitably have her hands wrapped under his arms, cupping his shoulders, holding him to her like an anchor. His dad's other hand would be at her jawline, his thumb touching her lips. They were always doing that, kissing or holding hands or doing stupid adult stuff that he instantly tried to memorize for when he was a grown up.

He would stand at the entrance to the kitchen for a few heartbeats, slowly sucking in a breath as he watched them, and then he would holler "Good morning!" in his biggest voice. His parents would spring apart like they'd each caught fire, his mother yelling, "Jon! What have I told you about that?" as a blush crept over her cheeks. His father would simply grin at his son while picking up his cooling coffee off the countertop. He'd waggle his eyebrows, sip his coffee, and then return to the breakfast table to continue his reading. It was always the best time of day, the boy thought. He wanted his parents to stay that way forever.

But right now, it was his turn to get in the car, and his father had knelt down to him again.

—-

His son stared up at him with wide eyes as he lowered himself down. It was like reading an open book, his son. Hope, trust, love, and little bit of fear flitted across his son's brown eyes. They widened even more when they were eye-level with each other.

"Dad," his son ventured cautiously, "do we have to go? I heard mum asking if we could stay, and… I would like that. I know where we're going is important, I think, but I just… want us to stay home."

Jonathan moved a pebble around with his shoe, and then continued in a very small voice, "I won't tug on my jacket, I promise. And we could go to the roof and watch the stars come out and I won't bother anyone and we could just… be here." His little mouth twisted to one side at the rush of words.

He reached out and grabbed his son's hands, thanking whatever powers may be for this gift of a child.

"Jonathan, one day, you're going to be even taller than I am. You are going to have a better understanding of the world around you. You might be off at university, or out traveling the world, but whenever the stars come out, I will always be there with you."

He picked his son up, and then carefully moved him in his arms so they were both facing the nearly cloudless sky, he standing at his full height.

"You know that when the sun is out, the moon and stars are still there, right?" he inquired to his son. He could see and feel his son nod a yes. "So that means, even during the day, when we're not together, I am always there with you. Just as the sun, moon, and stars are always together, even when they can't see each other. And just as they will always love each other, I will love you for even longer, Jon."

A small sob disguised as a hiccup escaped from his son. Alarmed, he placed his son back on the ground and knelt in front of him again.

Wondering what he had said wrong, he smoothed a tiny tear from his son's face.

"I'm sorry, Jon, if that—" He was interrupted with his son throwing himself into his arms, burying his small face into his shoulder.

Hands and arms wrapped around his neck, and he could feel his son's warm breath next to his ear.

"I love you, Dad," he whispered. Another hiccup escaped. "We can go now," his son finally managed.

A rumble of laughter ran through him as he held his son tightly, kissing his hair.

"I love you too," he murmured in reply, slowly beginning to move to get into the car.

Once inside, he leaned against the headrest, his son still firmly in his lap, and turned to look at his wife.

She sat there calmly, one hand stroking their daughter's hair, the other reaching across the seat to ensnare one of his own. She quirked an eyebrow in their son's direction, silently asking for an explanation. He slightly shook his head, smiling as he brought her hand to his lips. An explanation would have to wait for later.

Releasing her hand, he brought it back around his son who was still snuggled half into his jacket, little hands still around his waist. He encircled his son with his arms, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze, and when his son looked up in question, he winked down at him.

His sister sighed next to them.

"_Boys__._"

Laughter erupted in the car, putting stitches in their sides. His last thought, as the car pulled away, was that life was simply wonderful.


End file.
